What's Simple is True
by Lotesse
Summary: Moonlit dreams beneath the mallorn on the evening of 6 October 1420. Songfic to the song by Jewel of the same title, very mild F/S slash.


What's Simple is True  
  
  
  
A/n: This fic marks a lot of firsts for me: my fist songfic and my first slashfic (well, just barely-- look at the rating). I always maintained that I would write neither, preferring friendship and original poetry. But the moment I heard Jewel's song "What's Simple is True", my mind started screaming "Frodo/Sam! Frodo/Sam!" So, I did it. I wrote it. And here it is.  
  
Great thanks to everyone who reviewed Burning Blood. You chaps are the best, you really are!  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and most of the plot belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, the song belongs to Jewel. The bit about the passionate love-bond is a semi-quote from Sean Astin. Anything left belongs to me. From this, it can be deduced that I own nothing :P Oh yeah.  
  
***  
  
It was October the Sixth, and Samwise Gamgee was walking softly towards Frodo Baggins's room. Frodo hadn't gotten up that day. One year ago, they had been crossing the Bruinen, merry in their assurance that all hurts would soon be healed, taking simple pleasure in the brassy, red-gold autumn. He remembered the terror that had clutched at him when he had looked up to see the expression of pain that had latched on to his master's face, the frightening distance in his eyes, and had realized that this wasn't a happily-ever-after ending, no matter what they wished. Bad as that day had been, this day had been worse. Frodo had spent the day in the clutches of his own nightmares, unable to bring himself back to the waking world. At last, the sun had set, and the lines of pain on Frodo's face had smoothed. The coming of the twilight had never seemed so welcome.  
  
He entered the sparsely furnished room, his bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor. Frodo had not inherited Bilbo's packrat tendencies, and preferred to keep his rooms bare of all save the most important objects- - his solid oak furniture, the quilt made for him by his mother before her death, mementos and gifts from his few friends, and Bilbo's red book sitting on a desk beside the round window. Sam stepped over to the bed to check on Frodo and to say goodnight as he did every evening. After coming home from their journey, Sam had been struck by the strangeness of no longer having Frodo nestled up to his side as he slept. He had felt bereft and lonely by the loss, but could not bring himself to say so. They were back in the Shire, and he no longer had to worry about his Master's safety. They no longer had any need of sleeping back-to-back for either warmth or safety. And yet, he could never find sleep until he had seen Frodo resting safely in his room, free of nightmares. The fears that had held his heart in their sway on the Quest lingered still, his newly honed protectiveness for Frodo as yet undimmed. He had not known, until it was nearly lost, just how dear Frodo's companionship was to him. And while the Quest had sometimes seemed a living nightmare, yet he was glad for it. If the danger had not been so tangible, he might never have realized what it was that tied him to his Master. A cord of love, bright as a flame, connected them. Sam was sure of it. For many weeks, that love had been the only sure thing in his life, and it remained stronger than anything else in his life. He sat down lightly on the four-poster.  
  
Frodo was not on the bed. Sam gasped, looking wildly around the room, but he could not see his master anywhere. A cold hand of panic gripped him, leaving him scarcely able to breathe. Where was his Master? He couldn't be in danger; they were home, in the Shire. They had survived the Land of Shadows itself. They had come too far for Frodo to die now! As he searched the room wildly, too frightened to call out, he felt a draft of cold air waft around his furry toes. The window was open, large enough for a hobbit of Frodo's size to slip through. Sam peeped out, and with a gasp of relief saw Frodo curled up beneath the mallorn sapling, the moonlight shining on his softly curling hair and white shirt. After watching him for a moment, Sam clambered out the window himself and stood on the chill grass, transfixed at the beauty of the scene before him.  
  
1  
  
2 You turn to me with frozen lips  
  
Your hands are icy cold  
  
Your eyes burn bright against the frost-bit sky  
  
You' never seemed more lovely than you do tonight  
  
***  
  
Looking up at the mallorn, Frodo watched the moonlight fall down between the leaves, turned golden by the bitter air. The cold seemed to bring everything into a sharper focus, the full moon leaving shadows so sharp Frodo could have cut himself on their blade-like edges. But they were nothing like the Morgul-blade that had left such an ache in his shoulder. That blade as forged of a cleaving darkness, a sharpened shadow. This night was filled with fine needles of moonlight, and when the pierced him a strange, wild ecstasy filled him. He abandoned himself to it, feeling the dappled light soothing away the pain that had plagued him during the day, watching as it flashed off of the fair white jewel that hung about his neck like a teardrop on his shirt. He still felt strangely naked in simple cloth, feeling unprotected without the weight of a mail-coat between his shoulders.  
  
The sound of crushed leaves made him start and look up, his eyes widening like those of a startled deer. Sam stood there, looking back at him. Frodo smiled, and Sam, reassured, trotted over to him. "Frodo? Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes, Sam. I'm fine. I just…needed to feel the moonlight for a while. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"  
  
No more beautiful than you are, Sam thought. Frodo looked more Elvish than ever in the eldritch light, the kisses of the moon leaving his skin pearly, illuminated from both within and without. Sam remembered once again the light that he had seen shining from Frodo, the light of his beautiful spirit that somehow seemed to transcend the limitations of dull flesh, the radiance that had bathed them both that night in Mordor as they kissed for the first time.  
  
Pale on the horizon  
  
Like leaves frozen in the snow  
  
Our two shadows merge inseparably  
  
Will time stand still if it's pierced with cold  
  
***  
  
As Sam snuggled up to him, seeking refuge from the cold as well as the sheer joy of closeness to his beloved, Frodo reflected on their rapprochement. It was truly more than simple amity; the passionate love- bond between them was so much more than that of friendship. Sam's round, bright-eyed face was turned towards him, and his eyes traced over the familiar features, marveling at the beauty contained within the simplicity. Sometimes it seemed to him that he could see a golden strand connecting them, woven of companionship, trust, and love. He had perceived it most clearly in Mordor, when his eyes had seen little but the cord and the Ring. Without that love, he reflected, he would have surely been lost.  
  
The more I live  
  
The more I know  
  
What's simple is true  
  
I love you  
  
And yet, despite that love, Frodo knew that the Darkness was creeping up on him. The illness had been worse than ever that day. It caused him such pain, physical and mental. He had so hoped that coming home would heal him, that he would find peace in his beloved Shire. He heard again the Lord Elrond's words: "When the leaves turn gold before they fall…" The Age of the Elves was ended, and they would be leaving for the land where the past walks beside the present. Did he belong there? Was he, too, a relic of a passing age? He was beginning to believe that it was so. But how could he leave so perfect a love as Sam's behind? If he were to sail across the Sundering Sea, it would break Sam's heart, and his own as well. At least they would have this one last year, one winter, one spring, one summer. If only it could be made to last an eternity!  
  
3  
  
4 Twilight descends on our silhouette  
  
How soon spring comes  
  
How soon spring forgets  
  
I wanna hold time, say it'll never begin  
  
Old man winter be our friend  
  
Old man winter be our friend  
  
Sam, troubled by the unusually pensive look on Frodo's pale face, said, "Frodo? What's wrong? Should I go?"  
  
"No, Sam, please don't stay here with me. Look, there's the Star of Eärendil! See how beautiful?"  
  
"I don't need to see anything more than your eyes, Frodo my dear." Sam leaned forward, and captured Frodo's mouth in a kiss, feeling the moonlight wash over them in silken streams, almost a silken as the skin of Frodo's cold-pinked lips. He tasted of honey and fresh bread, so different form the pain, fear, and sweat that had lung to him in Mordor. Breaking away at long last, Sam ran a loving hand through Frodo's hair. "I love you so, dearest Frodo. You know that, don't you? More than moon, stars, sky, and earth, that much I love you."  
  
Frodo could find no words, Sam's simple words of love made heartbreaking by the destruction that tore at his soul and the answering love within himself. He leaned back against the silver sapling, knowing in his heart that he would find no greater joy than this, no matter how far he journeyed. And yet, he still heard the refrain, "When the leaves turn gold…" Still he saw in his dreams the great grey expanse of the Sea.  
  
5  
  
6 'Cause the more I live  
  
The more I know  
  
What's simple is true  
  
I love, I love you 


End file.
